


Fake Flowers

by irving



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: M/M, how did sherlock get beat up w a fire poker? the world may never know, the ending is bad pls forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9596273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irving/pseuds/irving
Summary: Sherlock really, really needs to stop getting into these kinds of situations. And also take a shower.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue prompt - “Wow, you look, uh…interesting.”

The door to the brownstone slammed suddenly. Joan jumped in her seat, nearly sending her book flying. Sherlock, who looked like he had traveled back in time and became a chimney sweep, glared at her. “I have had,” he said, his voice akin to that of a 40-year-old woman who has spent too much time smoking, “the worst possible day.” Joan frowned at him as he practically fell onto the couch.

  
“You look like you crawled into someone’s fireplace,” she said after a moment of surveying him. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and nodded.  


“That I did. You have not truly lived, Watson, until you have been beaten with a fire poker.” Joan did a very bad job of repressing a snort. Sherlock coughed, pleasantly surprised to find that cartoonish clouds of smoke did not escape from his lips, as he suspected they might. “I trust you have canceled our..” He waved his hand ambiguously. “Dinner plans?” No, he hadn’t forgotten. Last time he had forgotten and shown up to a dinner with Joan’s client covered in blood holding a gun. Needless to say, he had been excused rapidly.  


“I have not,” Joan said, standing up, “because I expected you to be home two hours ago, not covered in soot.” Sherlock groaned, tilting his head back so it rested on the back of the couch. “I know, it’s excruciating.”  


“It truly is, Watson. I have never been a fan of dinners with people, much less after I am exhausted and covered in remains from someone’s fireplace.” He tugged off the suit jacket he was wearing. The white shirt underneath was so covered in soot that it looked less like a dress shirt and more like something one would wear to a funeral, save for the sleeves, which the jacket had protected. It was a look, to say the least. To add to the effect, his slacks were torn up the ankle and his tie looked like it had been cut neatly down the middle with a pair of scissors (it had been a knife) and Sherlock was sporting a lovely cut on his soot-encrusted forehead from the fire poker. Glancing at the clock, Sherlock resigned himself to the fact he did not have time to change. Nor did he really want to - he’d prefer to keep his other clothing soot-free. No, he definitely had to shower first and he had absolutely no time for that. Standing up, Sherlock followed Joan to the kitchen to continue the debate he was forcing her into.  


“As I was saying, Joan, I find the concept of dinners with people wholeheartedly redundant. Eating is something one should do in the privacy of their own home, and certainly not in front of close friends.” Joan turned, looking at him skeptically.  


“I guess you’re against restaurants, then?” Sherlock nodded.  


“I am wholeheartedly against eating with or in front other people, not to mention I am against anything my brother has any ties to. You are the exception.” Joan scoffed, rolling her eyes.  


“Tonight, Sherlock, there will be no talking about your brother or me.”  


“Is the fling you had off-limits too?” Sherlock asked cheerily, raising his eyebrows. Joan chose not to respond, instead giving him a disapproving look and returning to whatever cooking activity she had decided to involve herself in. Sherlock had tried to stay out of the way of her cooking as much as possible. He only baked and that was strictly for when he was about to explode due to stress. “Besides, I do not see the point of the dinner even if you excuse the fact that dinners are completely pointless. You are already aware of Detective Bell.”  


“You shouldn’t call your boyfriend ‘Detective Bell’, it’s weird.”  


“First of all, he is not my boyfriend. Second of all, I will call him what I like. Third, the nature of our relationship is entirely our business and you, however close of a friend you may be to me, are not privy to dinners with us just because we are….” Joan looked at him while he searched for the correct word. “Courting.” She snorted.  


“I wasn’t aware we lived in the 1800s, and I want him to come over so the two of you can inform me about what’s happening. We need to set down boundaries.”  


“I am not a child, Watson. I can set boundaries without parental supervision and without a dinner and certainly without being covered in soot.” Joan turned to him, frowning.  


“Fine. But he’s still coming over. It’s important for me to know about what’s happening to make sure it’s…. healthy. And so I can just know. Or help out.” Sherlock gave her an unimpressed look. “You don’t have the best reputation for good, stable relationships.” That was a fair point. Besides, Sherlock was fairly sure he didn’t have much of a choice, considering someone was knocking at the door.  


Opening it, Sherlock offered his best, non-phony smile at Marcus, who was holding a fake flower. A very tacky fake flower. Marcus blinked at Sherlock, taking a few seconds to absorb the image he was presented with.  


“Wow, you look, uh…interesting,” he said, furrowing his brows in concern. “Somethin’ happen to you?” Sherlock nodded.  


“Yes. I had to climb into a fireplace. And I got attacked with a fire poker. I’m alright, though, thank you.” He stepped slightly to the side. Marcus stepped in, brushing off flakes of snow. Apparently, it had begun snowing while Sherlock was arguing with Joan about dinners.  


“Sounds pretty routine for you,” Marcus said, his usual grin coming onto his face. Sherlock couldn’t help but give a genuine grin.  


“I live an exciting life, Detective Bell.” Marcus gave him a look.  


“You do know that you should call me Marcus, right?” Sherlock sighed softly. “I mean, I don’t go around calling you ‘Mr. Holmes’.” Sherlock’s eyes widened.  


“I would like it very much if you did that,” he blurted out, raising his eyebrows. Marcus blinked. “But, um, that is a topic for another time. When we have more privacy.” Marcus raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat, nodding.  


“Ah.” Sherlock pursed his lips, nodding. He was glad his face was covered in soot, because it was quite red. “That’s - that’s not all this is, right?” His tone was hushed. Sherlock suddenly felt very apprehensive. It wasn’t just that for him, certainly not, but now did not seem like the place or time to be discussing this. Joan was probably getting very concerned. Sherlock cleared his throat, tucking his hands behind his back.  


“I do not think this is the time to question the nature of our relationship, Marcus, but I can assure you that I care about you far beyond your physical capabilities. You are a wonderful man and I would be happy to have dinner with you any day.” Marcus stared at him for a few moments.  


“Alright,” he said, a slightly shocked tone coming into his voice, “don’t know where Sherlock the romantic came from, but I ain’t arguing.” He smiled, offering Sherlock the fake flower. “Cheapest thing I could find. I thought you’d appreciate it, considering you have said several times you don’t want money spent on you.” Sherlock took it hesitantly, examining it before nodding.  


“Thank you,” he said, smiling slightly before gesturing towards the dining room. “Watson is probably concerned.”  


–  


Well, that had been….. relatively painless. Sherlock had been expecting far more interrogation from Joan, but she managed to keep it minimal. Sherlock was still glad to see the night end, though, considering he was still covered in soot and was very tired.  


Standing on the stoop of the brownstone, Sherlock shoved his hands into his ruined pockets, trying to avoid the cold. Joan was saying her goodbyes to Marcus still, so Sherlock stood by. As soon as she left, a certain silence fell over the two of them. Marcus was, naturally, the first one to break it.  


“Havin’ dinner with you is a lot less weird than you made it sound,” he said, smiling at Sherlock, who nodded.  


“I will admit, it was a more pleasant experience than I thought it would be.” A pause. “We should do it again,” he added, a note of hope coming into his voice. Marcus looked at him with a mock look of skepticism on his face.  


“You mean a date?” Sherlock swallowed and nodded.  


“I suppose you could call it that, yes. A date,” he said, a chill coming over his body. He hoped it was from the cold. Marcus thought for a second, or pretended to think.  


“I’m in. You do realize that we would be dating, then, right?” Sherlock sighed and chuckled softly. “And you would be my boyfriend. You were, and I quote, 'averse to putting labels on such a new relationship.’ You sure you can handle it?”  


“I am certain, Marcus.” Detective Bell shrugged and nodded.  


“Alright. I’ll see you on Wednesday.” Sherlock supposed that was an acceptable time. “Don’t come covered in soot, okay? I want to be able to take you somewhere nice.”  


“I will come soot-free.” Another pause, before Marcus leaned in and gently kissed Sherlock.  


“You taste disgusting, ” Marcus murmured after he broke away, “but now I can say I know what a fireplace tastes like.”  


Sherlock smiled as he watched Marcus walk down towards his car, the snow continuing to fall down.  


He’d be extra careful not to get into trouble until Wednesday.


End file.
